Losing Penny by Kristy Tate Page A

Penny. A quick glance at the
clock told him that it was after eleven. Because the thought of her
leaving gave him a hollow feeling in his gut, he pushed away from
the table and ran up the stairs. Her door stood ajar. The bed was
unmade and her pajamas were in a heap on the floor. Relief whooshed
through him.
    “Penny? Wolfgang?”
    Neither answered. Drake went down the stairs
two at a time and banged through the front door. The Volkswagen sat
in the driveway. After a moment of indecision on the front step,
Drake headed for the beach. He stopped at an outcropping of rocks
when he saw her.
    She wore the red and white bathing suit and
lay on the sand with her eyes closed…beside Trevor Marx. Jealousy
thrummed through Drake. Wolfgang rooted in the sand and found a
bright pink rubber ball. The dog gave the ball a good shake then
dropped it on Trevor’s belly. Trevor sat up and hurled the ball
into the surf. Wolfgang raced after it, dancing along the waves and
waiting for the ball to come to shore. He barked at the lost
toy.
    Drake knew that he didn’t like Trevor. Anyone
who would intentionally throw a dog’s toy into the surf had to be
cruel. Too cruel to spend any time with Penny. Once Drake hit the
sand, he could no longer see her, but her laughter floated to him
from the other side of the rocks.
    “Penny?”
    “Drake,” she sat up. “Do you know
Trevor?”
    Drake nodded at Trevor.
    “Of course, you do. You must know all the
Marx family, which is more than I can say. I really know nothing
about Trevor.” The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but she continued,
“Except that he’s not a very good swimmer.”
    “Hey!” Trevor propped himself up on his
elbows to frown at Penny. “I’m an excellent swimmer and an open
book. You’re the one withholding information. All I know is your
name, Maggie, supposedly short for Magdalena.”
    “Maggie?” Drake raised his eyebrows at
her.
    Penny shrugged and looked out at the water.
“It suits me better than Magdalena.”
    “That’s true,” Trevor said.
    Drake bit back a smart remark and settled on
the sand beside Penny, wondering what he should do to get Penny
away from Trevor Marx.
    “What would you like to know?” Drake asked
Trevor. “I can tell you everything.”
    “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
    “Maggie’s my wife.”
    Trevor looked surprised, and Penny didn’t
look very happy either. “Ex-wife,” she corrected him.
    Drake struggled to sound nonchalant.
“Estranged would be a better word.” He leaned forward and propped
his elbows on his knees.
    Penny laughed. “ I am not strange.”
    Drake shifted, unhappy with her play on
words, yet pleased knowing that the marital conversation had to be
making Trevor uncomfortable. “Oh, and I am?”
    “I didn’t say that. You did.” She
sounded exactly like his Aunt Greta bickering with Uncle Thurmond.
Tingling started in Drake’s toes. He hoped they sounded like an old
married couple.
    Trevor cleared his throat. “If neither of you
are strange, would you say your situation is strange?”
    “What do you mean?” Penny and Drake both
asked at the same time.
    “Well, estranged couples usually don’t share
a beach house.”
    Drake and Penny looked at each other. Neither
spoke. Finally Penny blurted, “Special circumstances.”
    The expression on Trevor’s face clearly said
he wanted more information, and Drake decided to provide all he
could, before Penny created her own story.
    “Magdalena writes cookbooks.”
    “You’re both writers?” Trevor asked.
    “Writing cookbooks is hardly—” Drake
began.
    “Oh my gosh,” Penny blurted. “You are such a
snob. What’s wrong with writing cookbooks?”
    “Neither a mixer nor a blender be; For flour
oft loses itself when stirred with vinegar,” he said in his best
Shakespearean voice, knowing he was making her mad. “I met—” Drake
cleared his throat, “ Maggie at a writer’s conference.”
    “The attraction was quick and deadly,” Penny
said.
    “Deadly,